The Last Chair
by Flute 5
Summary: MacDuff finally killed the devil known as Macbeth. He finally got his revenge, yet fate has another idea in mind.


A/N: For all you reading this, I would like to apologize for any weirdness I post, kinda new to the whole fanfic world. Thanks for reading! Please R&R!

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MacDuff followed Malcolm, his new king, to the banquet hall. He silently pondered, thinking of the loss of his family, of his revenge, and the lives lost to gain his revenge on Macbeth. MacDuff had nothing to lose during the battle, no one would mourn his death, no one would need to compensate for his absence, and no one would even remember him, except as the one who found Macbeth's Achilles heel. The only thing MacDuff could lose was the shred of sanity he clung to like a life line. A man could only endure so much before he broke, and MacDuff felt that he was on the edge of that cliff. MacDuff snapped out of his thoughts, not wanting to lose his composure in front of his King and the group of leaders with them. MacDuff focused on the wall, the floor, anything but the lingering thoughts of the battle, and of his sanity. Never had the thoughts after the battles been so traumatizing, the fight be so exhausting, the revenge be so sweet, yet bloodily sour. MacDuff finally had his revenge on the beast, the beast who murdered his wife and children in cold blood.

MacDuff shouldn't have felt anything but hate and the feeling of victory, but before he struck the final blow to his tormentor, he recognized a madman, a man full of grief, a man mourning the loss of his family, and oddly, a man who was almost a reflection of himself. MacDuff had felt sympathy for the madman, and gave him quick relief to his pains and trials on earth. Macbeth was released from his world of torment through death, and could not grieve for his solitude anymore.

MacDuff felt a new emotion surfacing within him. MacDuff began to feel envy. Envy for the man whose body lay six feet under, envy for the man who had no more breath, envy for the man whose life he stole with the blade. Envy for the man who no longer felt the pain of the loss of those he loved. While Macbeth was saved from a lifetime of torment and loneliness, MacDuff was forced to continue that life, separated from those sweet lives he loved, taken from him through death. MacDuff felt another emotion, a familiar one. Hate. Hate for the man who received rest, for the man who tore all he loved away, and escaped the torment MacDuff felt through death. MacDuff knew Macbeth deserved more, knew that the devil had received a quick end to his pain and misery, and Macbeth deserved more for the crimes he committed. The beast of a man deserved worse than death, he deserved to be tormented like MacDuff's soul, receiving every bit of anguish he now felt, paying full for the pain he caused on MacDuff and all around him. Macbeth deserved- MacDuff stopped abruptly as he heard his name.

He turned to see that the company he walked with had all been seated at the table. King Malcolm looked at MacDuff with almost a question on his face, as MacDuff stood, mouth agape. "I'm sorry, what my Lord?" Malcolm smirked as MacDuff sheepishly questioned. "I asked if you were to dine with us, or if you were to continue your glaring contest with the tapestries." The men who were seated chuckled as MacDuff cleared his throat and made his way to an empty seat. MacDuff was startled as he saw a familiar demonic face, seated at what he thought was to be an empty seat for him at the table.

"My Lord, the joke is not funny, the dead should not be brought to our dinners," MacDuff protested, perspiration forming on his neck as he stared a newly dead Macbeth in the eyes. Macbeth merely smiled, lounging in MacDuff's chair with an insolent smile. Malcolm looked perplexed as he studied MacDuff's face, watching sweat trickle down his colleague's face. "My trusted friend, whatever are you talking about? Do you feel quite all right?" Malcolm questioned, watching a now white MacDuff staring at the empty chair. MacDuff stayed silent as the grave, watching horrified as Macbeth stood up, and watched painfully as his enemy began to proceed towards him. MacDuff stood petrified, hoping the apparition would leave him be, and leave the accursed place. Macbeth reached for his head, silently grabbed his scalp and pulled his head clean off in one final swoop. MacDuff tried to scream, but was not able as he saw the head be hurtled at him, then everything went dark.

MacDuff first regained his hearing. He heard Malcolm shouting his name, the others whispering around him. He groaned and struggled to open his heavy eyelids. Blurry shadows formed in his vision, outlines of the speakers. He quickly closed his eyes again, and opened his eyes to this time see the concerned faces of Malcolm and the other military leaders looking at him, staring, wondering what had happened'. MacDuff took inventory of his surroundings. He was still in the banquet hall, surrounded by concerned faces. Macbeth was gone. MacDuff nearly laughed. "The coward," MacDuff did laugh this time, "He could not stay for I am his conqueror!" MacDuff continued laughing, glad to finally be rid of the apparition. "MacDuff, who? Are you all right? You have conquered no one in here, we are all allies," Malcolm was concerned, the man who defeated his father's murderer, was reduced to madness. MacDuff looked around, confused. "You didn't see him? You didn't see the no-good low life murderer Macbeth?" MacDuff looked perplexed, looking at the faces of those surrounding him. Malcolm whispered instructions to the man on his right, pointing to MacDuff and gesturing. MacDuff stood and watched his acquaintances, some looking at him with fear, others with concern. MacDuff didn't understand, why they couldn't see the devil, he had been in the hall, sitting in the chair, the devilish being lost his head for crying out loud! MacDuff went to sit down, when he saw Macbeth once more, sitting in his chair. Then MacDuff lost it completely.

"YOU SCULLION! YOU RAMPALLION! YOU FUSTILARIAN! I'LL TICKLE YOUR CATASTROPHE! YOU STARVELLING, EEL-SKIN, DRIED NEAT'S-TONGUE, YOU BULL'S-PIZZLE, YOU STOCK-FISH, YOU TAILOR'S-YARD, YOU SHEATH, YOU BOW-CASE, YOU VILE STANDING TUCK! THINE FACE IS NOT WORTH SUN BURNING! THOU ART UNFIT FOR ANY PLACE BUT H***! GET THEE HENCE, OR I SHALL TAUNT THEE ONCE MORE!" MacDuff continued screaming, insults, some not appropriate for this fan fiction, before Macbeth's ghost merely smirked. MacDuff roared, and threw the nearest chair at him, before the ghost vanished, leaving a very angry MacDuff behind.

It took four men to calm and guide MacDuff to the healer. MacDuff fought like a lion, screaming, yelling and cursing at every shadow he passed. Soon he was taken to a room, where he was promised care and safety from the shadows, and more specifically from himself. Malcolm saw to it that MacDuff would be treated fairly and with the best medical attention available. MacDuff was lead into a room filled with pillows on the walls and floors, and with little ceremony, MacDuff was pushed in and the door was closed behind him. MacDuff was confused, why was he being locked in a padded room? Macbeth looked around the room, and nearly threw up from what he saw. Sitting on the opposite side of the room, sat the devil himself. Macbeth.

All MacDuff could do was scream.


End file.
